Your Pioneer

The grasses of my world had become parched and dry,
My days of felicity had begun to slip by.
A void bred inside me that nothing could fill,
And the songbirds resigned from their perch by my sill…

And then a voice in the darkness called to me:

Open up yourself once more,
I’ve been a pebble on your sandy shore.
Let out your sails, the wind has blown,
You mustn’t live life on your own.

The time has come, the birds will sing,
Winter’s here but Spring is in full swing.
I’d closed my door, but you snuck in,
And let out the light that was hiding within…

And then a voice in the darkness called to me:

Open up yourself to me,
I’ve been a ship in your rolling sea.
Hoist up your flag, the day is here,
In matters of heart, I’ll be your pioneer.

The Master of Puppets Has Not Won

As the seasons went round and round,
I remained a marionette,
Nodding mechanically,
As they labored to convince me,
That I would never make it.

But I could hear the Winds,
Howling outside my room.
They infiltrated,
Broke the regime,
And helped me,
Believe.

When at last I cut my strings,
I could not falter.
I had my own legs,
And the Wind's words,
In my pockets.

I have made it through the spring,
Soaring to astonishing heights.
And one couldn’t identify me,
As the string-puppet from before.
I have wholly believed that there's nothing
At all, that I cannot do.


But I've suddenly found that,
There are things that I cannot do.
And it is shaking the framework,
That I bled to construct.

I close my eyes now and can feel the cold chains,
And cruel words from the lips of the puppet master,
Trying to dismantle my belief in my self.
I struggle to stand tall.

I WILL SUCCEED.
I WILL SUCCEED.
I WILL SUCCEED.

But I've got my belief in my back pocket,
My next attempt will be ablaze with victory.
And I shall burn this whole city down.

I Found Home: The Cantab [Lounge] Revisited

Originally Written on April 9th, 2009

Tonight, I lost, and found myself, in their inspired elixirs of language.
And I remembered, that I too, once had a panacea for this madness.
When their tongues hurled truths like chemo,
And their eyes spilled tales of redemption,
I cried for a year lost to cold, library tables,
When I hid out, a drenched barn-cat, in the stables.

I chose the boxcar where, the cattle stand, crammed, no room even, for a tendon to
quiver.
I chose the executioner’s block, my neck unafraid- the historic grooves just waiting to deliver.

But tonight, I carried these disillusioned bones of mine into an embrace that set them afire.
I wormed my way through the unified, the justified, the qualified, the deified,
And I made it, blistering and smoldering with something I thought I’d forgotten altogether.
‘Oh yeaaaah…’ I reflected, as I scanned the subterranean arena bursting with creativity.
I found home.

My Autumn Wind

Tonight, a soft curl of autumn wind snuck though my window and nuzzled the yielding skin behind my ear.

It carried me back to a mound of crisp, orange, reds and browns.
I had sat, awed and still, in my amoxicillin-pink corduroy overalls, while the same northeasterly wind stirred the leaves around me.

Each and every time the flowers cast-off their petals to the cold ground, the trees unhurriedly send forth their leaves, and the plants drop to earth their fruits, I shed my shell and am naked, I am an equal.

Hope, again

People speak about hope as if it’s the water with which they can put out their fires.

I did this also, describing hope as a dear friend that would hold my hand and console me during times of need.

I called hope my window, ajar to the possibilities that lie waiting in a brighter future.

But hope has been a cancer, leisurely eating away at the contentment I create after loss.

Today I will stand on a mountaintop and declare hope as an adversary.

Hope has forced me to become a realist.

Heart Strings

I am a steel bridge, supporting tons, on my back, never failing.
I am an airbus, carrying many, across distances, never slowing.
I am a dump truck, shuttling waste, into mountains, never complaining.

I can spin any rough thread into golden tales and sell you down a river.
I can sing juicy declarations and convince you that I am all you need and more.
Well, anyone that is, but You.

You know that,
I am a rainbow, displacing light, from my bones, never quitting.
You know that,
I am a haystack, offering respite, in my arms, never tiring.
But You know that,
I am an old scar, prompting nightmares, in your heart, never losing.

If I once played melodies on your heart strings like an angel with her harp,
Cant you paint with my sweet remorseful blood over the dark canvas I left you with?

Pawn

Another day dawns
as we march in place
We are all but pawns
Losing a rat's race.

Time's Little Secret (written 3 years ago-it's now become pertinent)

Anticipation is a slowly filling balloon,
Minimal helium intake,
Rising, swelling ever so slowly.

What if this balloon never seemed to fill completely?
Watching, you pray for more.
Hoping, begging it to stretch just enough.

So, I sit patiently on the floor in the dark.
Fat tears line my lids as I wait.
Can I attain what I am seeking?

This balloon struggles, it seems, to stay depleted.
I coach it through, almost pleading; “fill, fill!”
But alas, months pass and it continues this unhurried process.

My hopes erode, a perfect castle of sand washed down by the sea.
What if it never fills? Should I wait, forever?
I fear I am being foolish.

The future holds all Time’s secrets.
I dance around the question nervously,
When do I give up?

Crusade

I sorted them by shape and size,
Even chose to alphabetize.
My process slow and systematic,
As I placed each item in the attic.

A gauzy film of dust amassed,
Over these memories of my past.

Mistakenly I let fall, my line of defense,
And the dust disappeared at my panicked expense.

I retreated at first, like the girl from before,
But the stinging of old was too sharp to ignore.

‘Guess the war ‘aint over’, I have to say,
And so I battle the demons of yesterday.

Hawk Song

The clever cleaver is mincing words while the tablecloth fabricates a tale, woven like Anantzi the Spider’s glittering web, so delicate it falls apart in our hands, As we all wash off the cold blood in the fountain where we lost our youth some years ago.

...So I, stop and catch my breath because this year, I’m going to be older, and these friends don’t seem to know it, So I look above me and realize that I’m, No longer an ant on a big red checkered tablecloth, I am a hawk circling above, ready to barrel down and watch the fear smeared across the faces of my prey as I make my move in this world that has never offered me so much as road-kill...

Today I stepped out of the darkness.
I've been hiding, with an ignorant smile across my face, for a year.

This time last year I was ready to jump into the sun, but instead I sank into shadow.

Time has been pushing with steel hands on my spine, urging, demanding me to move forward.
I've resisted with every tool, every atom, every seductive smile I could muster.
I won.
I successfully made no progress.

So now I build an arsenal.
I'll drill out all the old and construct a model of the self I want to be.

The Lioness has been sleeping.
I'm going to feed her all the dreams and wisdom I can gather.
Then I shall set her loose on the world.

Se reposer dans la paix

Cancer crawls through veins, in vicious barbarism.
It marks the wicked source, of an emotional schism.

So we dine and converse of anything eternal,
An autonomous king became paternal.


If his life was known for pacifism,
Why did death offer only cataclysm?

Maybe fate will have us meet once more,
In a different time and on a distant shore.


Dedicated to God Murphy

The Stars Don’t Go Out

The stars, well, they haven’t gone out,
Although most days I wish that they would.
They blaze through my lids like acid,
Imprinting Your face in my eyes.

Each shadow on the wall,
And every storefront reflection,
Takes Your loyal shape.
You’re always one step behind.

I awake alone and curse,
And pull at my hair as if it could remove the guilt,
Or the ache that’s resided in my throat,
Since the day I knew You were gone.

I smile and kiss the boys.
I wear a perfect mask,
To hide my absent gaze,
Although they wouldn’t care.